Conflicting Memories
by Enigmaticrose4
Summary: Sometimes it's better to just accept things and be happy.
I don't own HP. Wish I did, but I don't.

XXX

Harry blinked and opened his eyes.

Confused.

One moment he'd been in the Forbidden Forest, sacrificing himself for everyone. Doing what he could to protect those he loved.

And now…

Now he didn't know what was going on.

He appeared to be in a small sitting room, cuddled up against-"

Harry jerked away, pushing himself to his feet, looking at the couch in horror.

What was going on?

Why was he cuddled up against Draco Malfoy? Was he in hell?

"What the hell is going on!? Why are you here?" he heard himself say.

Malfoy set down his book and stood up, looking at Harry with concern, "Harry, what do you mean. We're married. Why wouldn't I be here? In our home? Did you forget to tell me about something happening at work? Did you get hit with a curse again? Should I floo Hermione?"

Harry just stared at him, trying to make sense of what Malfoy was saying. They were married? What? He wasn't married! He wasn't even-

"Wait- I'm gay? We're gay?" he exclaimed. His mouth catching up with his thoughts.

"Gay? Of course we're gay! Why wouldn't we be happy? I mean, not everything is sunshine and rainbows, but we have a good life," Malfoy said, gesturing at the room around them.

Harry glanced around, rather surprised to see the walls of the small, cozy sitting room covered in photographs.

A flash of red caught his eye and he found his eyes lingering on a photo that he knew couldn't be real.

There was his mother, and she was clapping and laughing as he whizzed past her on a small broom. He couldn't have been more than five or six years old.

Suddenly his heart clenched. This couldn't be real.

There was no way.

But, still, his eyes caught other photographs.

There he was, with an older version of himself, chasing a large black dog.

More photos of him, older, his arms thrown around Hermione and Ron. The three of them laughing and smiling. Looking so happy and carefree.

Then more photos. He was older, maybe sixteen or seventeen. And he was holding hands with Malfoy. There was even a photograph that showed the two of them kissing, before they looked up at the camera in shock and surprise.

Malfoy saw his eyes linger on that one.

"See? We're happy. Though I have to say, I don't think I've ever seen you as angry with your brother as you were after he barged into your room and took that photograph."

"My brother?" Harry found himself saying.

"Yes, Donald took that one. Remember? You chased him out of the house and into the garden. Rose tackled him for you, and you got the camera. He thought you destroyed the film, but I saved it."

Harry's thoughts were whirling, his brain on overload.

"No…that can't be right. I…I can't have any siblings. My parents…they're dead! Voldemort killed them! I can't be married to you…I mean…you're…no…I just can't be!"

Harry didn't know if he imagined it, but Malfoy looked pained at his words.

"What do you mean? You can't be married to me? I proposed to you on graduation day. We married after you finished your three years of auror training. Don't you remember?"

"I…I…" Harry's head was bursting. So many thoughts conflicting. Malfoy – disarming Dumbledore. Malfoy – dropping to one knee. Echoes of his mother's last words in his head. A clear memory of his mother dancing and laughing at his wedding. A dark, spider-filled cupboard under the stairs. A sun-filled room painted in blue and red.

Dumbledore dying. A terrible battle. Voldemort laughing. Snape dying.

A happy Dumbledore, puttering around Hogwarts. Severus Snape presenting him with a birthday present.

Malfoy casting the cruciatus curse at him in the bathroom. Draco casting a tickling charm when Harry was busy working.

The conflicting images overwhelmed. One on top of the other, moving, shifting, mixing together.

He screamed and fell to the floor. Clutching his head in pain.

He couldn't take it. He didn't know what was real - what was fake.

The memories were too different.

He was drowning.

Lost.

He couldn't take it. He couldn't do it. He was being split apart. Drowning in memories. Conflicting images filled his head. Some tore at him, ripping him to shreds, and then others washed over him. Caressed him. Soothed him. Only to be savagely ripped away.

He distantly felt himself tip to the side and fall over. He curled up, screaming. Fighting whatever was happening.

And then it stopped.

He was floating.

Safe.

Cocooned in a sea of warmth.

The memories were there, but they were calm, waiting for him.

He reached out – touched one.

And then he was in it.

 _A gentle breeze played with his hair as he lounged on a soft feather bed. Gauzy green curtains swirled around the bed, creating a magical place, separate from the real world._

 _Something warm was pressed against his side._

 _He tilted his head and looked over to see Mal- no, **Draco,** pressed against him. He looked so sweet and innocent in slumber. _

_Carefully he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off of Draco's forehead. Grey eyes drifted open at his touch, a soft smile soon following._

 _"Morning, Harry."_

 _His mouth had a mind of its own._

 _"Morning, Draco."_

 _Draco reached up, cupping Harry's face with his hand._

 _"Did you sleep well?"_

 _"Always."_

 _They smiled at each other, and then Harry felt himself lean down. A moment later he was kissing Draco._

 _And it was heaven on earth._

 _It didn't matter how many times he kissed him, he knew he'd never grow tired of it. Knew that he could never grow tired of kissing the man that he loved._

And that was when he realized – the conflicting memories didn't matter.

Not really.

Not as long as had Draco.

Everything else would sort itself out.

He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, pulling away from his conflicting memories. There, staring down at him, were the most gorgeous pair of grey eyes he'd ever seen. And the warmth, the cocoon around him, it was because of Draco. His arms were wrapped around him, his brow furrowed with worry.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"I…I don't know."

"Do you need me to fetch a healer?"

"No."

"What do you need?"

Harry smiled and tilted his head up, reaching out to gently grab Draco.

"You."

And then they were kissing. And Harry was in heaven. He didn't know what had happened. He didn't know why he had memories that didn't fit. He didn't know why one set had an evil megalomaniac, while the others didn't.

And, at that moment. He didn't particularly care.

He could work it all out later. With Draco at his side.

He was happy.

Or, as Draco had put it - he was gay.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Yeah, was struggling with a chapter of Brightest Black, then got the idea of - what if the word gay didn't mean homosexual? Like, the connotation had never arisen. Not quite sure why. Wrote this little bit. Rather odd, I'm sure. Especially since once the characters started going, they went a different direction. But so it goes.

I guess it could fit into my ideas from 'The Real Memory', but I don't mean for it to. I just got an idea.

Enjoy!


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